442 of the file on steel—small, stern, measured—would -be the only sound. For some time Mr. Munn remained there, looking down the lane, then off across the fields. From the house behind him there came, now and then, the muffled clatter and chink of dishes and pans, or the low murmur of the voices of the women as they moved about their occupations. Some jays wrangled distantly on the bluffside, Then they catapulted brilliantly, glitteringly, across the empty sky, to hide them- selves in the mass of the white oak by the gate. Mr. Munn straightened himself, stepped off the porch, and walked toward the bluff. He stayed on the bluff all day, except for a little time when he went back down to eat a silent meal with the others. He lay on his back and looked up at the sky, absorbed in that emptiness, that perfection. There were no clouds, not even a little white boll stabilized singly and gleamingly in the upper distance. Once, toward the middle of the afternoon, he noticed the steady, black fleck of a buzzard which spiralled up, southward, into the area of his vision. He watched it for a while, then grew tired and turned away. When he looked again it had been lost in the central reaches of the throbbing brightness. Willie Proudfit, he thought, had once lain on those high mountains, far away. He had stared into the thin, pure blueness of that strange sky. He closed his eyes, and wondered what had led Willie Proudfit up to the high mountains, to lie under that strange sky, for Willie Proudfit had not been able to say it in words. What had he found there? What, Mr. Munn demanded. He could not say. But he knew that Willie Proudfit was himself, and knew what he was. He knows what he is, he thought, and I, I do not know what I am. He opened his eyes, and stared again into that dazzling distance. When the sun, reddening and heavy, was almost touching the ridge to the west, he went down the path from the bluff. After supper, when they had all gone out to the porch, Mr.